


Prey Within Fallen World

by blackgirlcouchstories



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Multi, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25902343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackgirlcouchstories/pseuds/blackgirlcouchstories
Summary: It's been 20 years since a parasite was unleashed into the populace that killed the human and reanimated their body as flesh eating animals with sharpened teeth and extensive life period. Nathan, Pak, Andrea and their tribe of mostly small families are exhausting their hard earned fuel supply to find another ideal spot to hibernate for the winter months. They'd been pushed out of their previous zones by incoming Flesh Eaters; cannibal gangs who believe in purifying any resemblance of or prospering communities by setting them ablaze. Forced into unfamiliar territory a chance encounter with mysterious Brielle alters Nathan, Pak, and Andrea's world forever in this dystopian world where safe places are in short supply.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue  
Don’t fuck this up  
Brielle bristled, then shrugged the condescending voice aside resuming her nonchalant pose; prone with an arm casually draped behind her head. She was acutely attuned to the soft tick of the nearby clock as each second tightened her chest with almost giddy anticipation. The stakes were eternal purgatory until she got the defeated enough to eat a bullet. Which wasn’t too far a cry from her current situation, but they’d make it worse. They could always make it worse; a lesson well learned.  
However, she’d had many more lessons in survival; ingrained methods taught by detached, ruthless sociopaths. It accounted for dry personality, her calculating manner, almost bored disposition. She’s been called many names, but the word psychopath had followed her like a prophesized omen from the time she was six years old. That was before the world had decided to defy the laws of human mortality. Twenty-two years later, psychopath was declared by associates and foes alike.  
Insipid halfwits.  
Her mother, a trained physiologist in human behavior and detached sociopath number one concluded she had a borderline personality disorder sprinkled with narcissistic tendencies she took it upon herself to carefully domesticate. Whereas her father; an Army Marine biologist and sociopath number two, chose carefully to cultivate.  
The result was a visceral capability to survive.  
It’s a good thing I made such an ideal student.

56…57…. The guard stood and began abandoning his post….58….59…. The weight left her chest as quickly as she abandoned her indifference and sat up, her thick black hair tickling her cheeks in its disarray. She could hear the clink of metal as keys were exchanged followed by voices low and a breathy; a slightly annoyed laugh. Footsteps receded then a pregnant pause. More footsteps, this time hurried and moving towards her.  
A bead of sweat trickled between her heaving chest.  
Don’t.Fuck. This-  
Yeah, yeah, I know. Now, do me a favor and shut the fuck up.

Chapter One: Run  
Nathan knew he was about to die. It wasn’t the first time he’d had the thought, but he felt certain today was the day where he would cease to exist. He took some small comfort in the fact that he wouldn’t die alone as both Pak and Andrea were panting alongside him to outrun the pack of rotters determined to make them supper. His thin gangly legs ached, and he was sure he was on the verge of a cramp as they’d been given chase for the past ten minutes; shelter nowhere in sight through the wooded unfamiliar territory.  
He’d volunteered for this scouting mission, ever eager to roam to appease his curious nature. The bulk of their tribe were at a necessary stopping point in their continuing journey for a place to hibernate through the upcoming winter. An argument erupted on whether to go west or east ending in a verbal standstill. So, the others had stayed in the secluded, hidden alcove far away from any road where’d anyone would follow them. Once the RV, bikes and 2 pickup trucks that made up their party had been parked and hidden by nearby temporary shelter the three of them had hustled away, with walkies to communicate should there be any problems.  
They hadn’t anticipated the herd and it had been too late to mask their scent to avoid detection nor to signal a rescue. If they didn’t find a place to hide and soon nothing would matter. They’d be ripped apart, alive, watching helplessly and in terror as flesh was chewed from the bone.  
He had a gun, but it only had so many bullets; one had his name specifically marked as the last to exit the clip. That morbid thought coincided with the awareness of the fact that he hadn’t seen a Skyscraper, owned a pet, learned how to swim or felt the warm breath of his first kiss. He’d planned on asking Andrea as a favor-  
“Look,” Pak croaked and both he and Andrea followed his outstretched arm.  
A break in the trees ahead revealed a sandy beach. Nathan’s legs almost buckled at the change in terrain as hurriedly they moved toward the dock where perched alongside its pier was a recreational boathouse. They’d manage to keep a minute ahead of the herd, but hope made them race faster.  
The front door was locked.  
Shit.  
Simultaneously, they looked for a way in with Andrea finding it through an open window. It was not a second too soon as the beach began to flood with the dead zealously searching for their anticipated meal. As if on auto pilot, the three of them found the nearest piece of furniture, an easily movable cabinet, and blocked the window in the event it should shatter. While he and Andrea were holding that in place, Pak had already began moving a small sofa to block the locked door. Nathan had barely a moment to register the rest of their setting as Pak already had his gun out indicating he do the same as they listened intently for movement inside as the dead outside snarled and paced, continuing to hunt for their whereabouts.  
While nothing rushed towards the noise they had made, there was a repetitive banging unmistakably that of a rotter trapped in a room upstairs activated by their occupation.  
Andrea took a step forward, the only one without an automatic weapon, raising her bow staff and reaching for an arrow.  
“No.” Pak whispered and gestured to Nathan. “Let the kid handle it. You help me barricade this place. I don’t want any surprises.”  
Andrea’s mouth puckered; her green eyes sparkling behind wired frames; she wanted to argue but Pak was the elder which made him defacto leader. While none of their merry band of survivors were not military themselves, they respected Command based on seniority should any perilous situation arise. The debate over schematics were conversations reserved for once the danger had passed.  
Nathan, moving promptly to and up the wooden stairs like any well-trained soldier, felt an answering pout for a completely different reason; he wasn’t a fucking kid. Sure, he was fifteen, give or take a year along the way. His 5’6 frame was unimpressive and slender, brown eyes typically distant or twinkling, his face was angular, nose hawkish, with messy black hair and a baritone that hadn’t quite dropped the way he’d preferred. Still, he’d been taking care of himself since he was seven years old; the last time he’d been considered childlike.  
Pretending Pak were the audience in which he proved this point, he holstered his gun and reached for Kraken; his mini cold steel Brooklyn Crusher. He’d adorned it with a crown of nails symmetrically aligned into a circle. He gently, carefully turned the handle, not so much as to open it but to allow the rotted dummy to knock it open itself though it took a few crashes before it propelled it back enough for it to escape.  
The first swing enclaved the side of its head and fastened in the flesh, allowing him the time to circle, pivoting the momentum of his weight before pulling out and swinging again, this time causing brain matter to spray in different directions as it fell in a slump.  
His hair fell into his eyes and with a bloodied hand pushed it back, his thin lips curled in a deeply satisfied way.  
Kid, my ass.  
The room Mr. Rotter left caught his attention as it was littered with books. With a childish glee he didn’t recognize as such he knelt excitedly looking through the collection of unknown material shrugging off his blessedly light backpack.  
“Pak hasn’t said the place is clear yet for you go rummaging through dead people’s things.”  
Andrea leaned in the doorway. Today, the princess was sporting knee length blue jean shorts, as dirt stained as the once pink flowery blouse, she insisted on wearing despite it not being neutrally seasonal attire. They all had about four pair of clothes recycled and washed until it was necessary or opportunistic to obtain more. Everyone wore boots; she chose the cowboy style. In the fading evening light, her light brown hair spun golden.  
She had this annoying way of using words he didn’t understand. He suspected she did it to sound more adult like than her twenty years. His bag properly stuffed, he rose. “Considering I was the one doing the clearing, I’d say it’s my call to make.” He swung the backpack back on, her glare confirming his barb hit home as she crossed her arms defensively.  
Despite his earlier rancor at the moniker kid, at least he wasn’t a “snowball.” Someone born and raised behind walls or some type of construct of what a society was. He was born in into the newly minted dystopian world where living was those small moments between the madness. He wasn’t exaggerating by saying she’d been lucky to find them, or that Hilda had vouched for her.  
He’d grown to like her during the six months they traveled together, at least until she got snooty.  
He moved to brush past her. “What does rummaging even mean anyway?” They’d kept their voices low.  
Her glare eased, “It means going through people’s shit.”  
“Why can’t you just say that?”  
“All clear!” whispered Pak coming up the stairs, his bronzed skin still soaked with sweat, his thinning black and silver hair tied atop his head. He had an angular jaw for his stubborn nature. His wore brown cargo pants and a grey tank. While skin sagged in some places, his physique was proudly muscled completely devoid of fat. Calloused and weathered his body was it belayed his forty-nine years. “Not too much to see down there except a small pantry and a sink. There’s another door leading out into some boat garage I’m guessing but the damn thing is boarded up pretty damn tight. You check the rooms?”  
Andrea gestured to the open small bathroom. “Just a toilet you don’t wanna look in. Nathan was just pilfering from the sleeping room.”  
Nathan blushed. “I found some books.”  
Pak smiled, “That’s like hitting the lottery for you, kid.” Nathan smiled back, this time basking in the endearment. No matter how much it sometimes rubbed raw, Pak was always going to call him kid. He had from the moment he met him.  
The hallway light was fading. Pak nodded. “We should all stay up here tonight, then.”  
Andrea abandoned her casual pose against the wall, feeling like an intruder in the paternal relationship. Fear crossed her face, “Wait, is that really a good idea? Shouldn’t someone be downstairs? What if…”

Pak gave her a light pat on the arm in reassurance. “Anyone who’s smart is already tucked in for the night; it’ll be dark in about another hour. Besides; that herd while not insistently hunting us is still out there on that beach. Anyone coming this way will be met by them. That, and there’s a chair these bones demand,” he finished pointing towards the bedroom.  
Resigned, Nathan once again removed his backpack and shuffled his way back into what now appeared once be a young girl’s bedroom; The other’s filed in behind.  
It could have simply been adorned with all this pink, he thought. He couldn’t recall the appearance of the rotter he’d killed; it was something he’d long forgot to imprint into his psyche. They were the things he killed, until it was someone he knew. Those were the faces he’d never forget.  
Voices still low, Andrea asked “Speaking of the herd, how the hell are we gonna get that to move along?” She flounced down next to Nathan, who perturbed, scooted away putting his bag between them like a barrier.  
He didn’t like physical contact.  
Andrea didn’t notice, Pak did. “We won’t, not without help.” He winced, the strolled to the window, opened it up, glanced out and nodded before closing it indicating the way down wasn’t daunting. Then, with a groan he sat into the overstuffed chair in the corner. There was an audible groan in response from the furniture.  
Andrea, looking more anxious than the situation warranted in Nathan’s opinion, sat forward. “What does that mean?”  
Inwardly, Nathan chuckled. For all her vocabulary she was rather dense.  
Instead of answering, he pulled out the walkie from his backpack.  
“Pak to Base…. Pak to base.”  
“……. Go for base,” a soft feminine voice answered.  
“Base, do we…uh…. happen to have any flairs left?”  
“……. I take it this means you won’t be back before nightfall,” drawled a male voice filled with smugness.  
Pak’s head fell back with the weary sigh. “Base, we found out correctly East is not the right route to go, however….”  
“……how many?” asked the feminine voice.  
“A herd, about twenty of them.”  
“Jesus. How far out?”  
Pak looked at Nathan, who was greedily reading the back of books he’d found. “Thirty minutes east, give or take. We trekked through the town ahead, not much to see. Place burnt all to hell, likely the Flesh Eaters and their ‘Let not hath been, continue to be’ bullshit…” As if realizing he was beginning to ramble, abruptly he shifted in the chair. Andrea had been hanging on his every word.  
“Listen, Hilda, do we have any flairs left or not?”  
“Well, Danny says there’s a few left – “the woman answered. “though we were hoping to use them to clear out our winter palace,” Danny finished.  
“If there was a way….”  
“Pak, don’t you mind my husband. Are you tucked somewhere safe?” The walkie shrieked before, “Cause aint shit we can do about it tonight,” Danny finished.  
“Obviously,” Park sneered. They’d never get far enough to light the flairs and hurry back without being attacked. And no one traveled at night when the world turned to black.  
Annoyed, Andrea snatched the walkie from Pak. “We’ll still need to make out way back to you guys.”  
Danny’s voice softened, “Ellie and Tom will take the bikes out as soon as the sun is bright enough. After the flairs go up, we’ll head your way to come and rescue ya.”  
Nathan watched Pak mumble the words, “I don’t need rescued,” and shook his head with a smirk, Pak caught it and answered. Andrea and Hilda were still speaking but he drowned them out, exploring the cover of the book “The Queen of the Damned” by someone named Anne Rice.  
“ - Akasha--Queen of the Damned, mother of all vampires, rises after a 6,000 year sleep and puts into motion a heinous plan to "save" mankind from itself and make "all myths of the world real" by elevating herself and her chosen son/lover to the level of the gods: "I am the fulfillment and I shall from this moment be the cause" . . .

He wasn’t sure what startled him, but he was suddenly awake, ears straining to catch the culprit of his anxiety. All he heard was the soft snores of Andrea asleep in the bed him faced away towards to the wall. He glanced over at Pak still in the chair; one arm folded with his other hand rested on the butt of his gun still tucked into its holster.  
As to not alarm either, he eased himself from the floor where’s he’d made his pallet, unlocked the door taking care not to make any noise. Everyone slept light, particularly in unfamiliar territory, but Nathan knew he had a knack for the sneaking about. Often when he was young, he was sent to scout places because of it, his frame small enough to fit into vents and tunnel that led to many places’ inaccessible places. He still used that to his advantage.  
It was storming. A streak of lightening lit the entire place as he made his way down the stairway. Before they’d tucked in, he’d explored the small house finding plenty of canned food under a false floor board along with flour and rice. Pak had smiled boastfully already anticipating flaunting their score in Danny’s face. The two men didn’t hate each other but they were the two senior Alpha males in their pack with Danny being nine years Pak’s senior. The men bickered like brothers enjoying pushing each other’s buttons. It was a part of their camaraderie. 

Andrea had joined him to piece together the previous resident’s story as she was known to do, finding it fascinating to “know what history came before us.”  
Sounded like a waste of time.  
Still, she declared the place had two occupants, likely both female. Maybe a mother and daughter but also two sisters or two women who liked each other. She’d smiled at that.  
When the one died and turned her emotionally bonded partner couldn’t kill her, so she locked her in the room and left making sure the place was secure to protect any future inhabitants. What evidence did she have? Well, since the place was devoid of any corpses or blood it was a safe bet, she said oh so confidently, that she got away, most likely on a boat. She then imagined she was found by the equally fictional New Eden; a place said to host the last remnants of modern civilization.  
He’d rolled his eyes but not in front of her so not to hurt her feelings. Still, fantasy realms of safety were an illusion she really should put past her but it’s what made her unique; why he suspected Hilda vouched for her to begin with. Innocence felt like something worth preserving and alleviated their droll existence.  
While Andrea predicted a happy ending, he saw all the things she hadn’t said or could not see. Like the strangle marks on the rotter when they had disposed of it. There were multiple boot marks on the wooden floor from previous tenants or one altercation he wasn’t sure. But he could track the tell-tale signs of struggle. She had gotten away, sure, the window had been unlocked, but likely only as far as the beach where she was either kidnapped later to be sold, maimed, tortured, molested or simply murdered. That was the reality.  
Presently, he could no longer hear the constant thump of the rotters trying to crash through an obstacle they couldn’t see, which was something. It was one of human’s advantages over the monsters that now roamed the continent. Rotters hunted their prey by smell and sound; they could not see; instinctual not intelligent. They weren’t faster than the average athlete, however, they didn’t get tired, didn’t need shelter, water and even without a constant food source didn’t starve. They’d simply eat their own. He shivered, recalling exactly how he came by such knowledge and moved to a small window they hadn’t blocked in some way.  
He could see almost nothing and only heard the rain coming down and the waves on hitting the pier. Then lightening illuminated the sky and he saw it; a midsized boat capsized, on the beach not twenty yards away from the pier where it should have docked.  
That didn’t make mouth go dry and his pulse run faster; there was someone out there.  
He pressed his face closer, wiping the window as if he could unblur the scene and waited; impatiently, breath abated for the next illumination and it didn’t not disappoint. It revealed a startling view. There was someone out there, a woman from what he could tell, possibly injured by the way she continued to stumble crawling away from the wreckage. But that was not what made his entire world spin; she was unscathed amid a flock of rotter’s.


	2. Chapter Three and Four

Chapter Two: What the Actual Fuck  
Long ago before he was born someone figured out that the rotters had their own behaviors. While it made sense to converge in insurmountable odds against humanity they preferred to stay in different types of packs. It was deduced that it was the self -cannibalism in potential times of hunger that kept groups manageably sized. Herds were rare; it took a lot to sustain them all; most broke out into flocks which were a pack of about ten. They could cover more ground and sniff out more meat that way. Syndicates were the most common which were a group of five. Those fuckers were the most conniving in Nathan’s opinion; often finding ways to box the cattle in. If you’ve survived this long anything under a syndicate could be handled alone with relative ease if you were alert, prepared, and well-armed.   
The concept of taking on a herd alone was insane. He was impulsive; not crazy. So, he rushed up the stairs, careful not to stomp. Pak had already rose when he opened the door; Andrea lifted her groggy head.   
“The herds gone but there’s a flock left, and a boat crashed and-annd- there’s a person out there.” He didn’t say it was a woman because that was just a guess and he’d run out of air. He panted hard, still stunned and annoyed both people in the room didn’t feel as affected as he. Oh yeah, right. “And she can walk among the rots!”  
It didn’t get the reaction he was expecting. Pak took his hand off his gun and licked his lips. “Did you get into the drink again, kid?”  
“Whaaa-No!” he shouted as loud as he allowed his voice to carry in the hush and dying storm.  
He turned to Andrea, still wiping sleep from her eyes. “Tell the truth, did- “  
“He didn’t find anything with me,”  
Apparently, he was only ever allowed to get drunk once. “Just come look.” Huffing, he grabbed Kraken and his gun, still in the holster belt and sprang down the stairs not bothering to see if they followed. He fastened his belt as he walked to the window, but everything had gone pitch black again. All he could hear was the patter of rain on the sill and the fiery waves.   
The others finally ambled down, still not nearly as clamorous as Nathan felt. They prepared to move the cabinet blocking the larger window; Andrea’s bow and arrow slung over her shoulder. She glared at him; sleep lines on her face. “This better not be some bullshit.”

Brielle had no more energy left to move which was fine except she would bleed out from the impaled shrapnel in her side and that felt like a rather unceremonious a way to go. This pissed her off once again and made her mind fight the ever-losing battle with her body to keep going.  
She was 5’3. average in weight but toned, dark brown skinned outfitted in green cargo pants, black spaghetti strapped tank below a white dirt covered loose crop top. Black hair styled into medium sized knotless braids hastily managed on the better part of the voyage; brown eyes almost black, a full mouth and an oval face.   
A face currently surrounded by sand.  
The dead surrounding her was not irony lost despite the severity of the situation.  
Look at the world with a cynical sense of humor, dear, and people won’t realize just how nihilistic you really are.  
Mom, ever the fountain of wisdom. The Mother Earth of nurturing parents.  
This is simply not the time for sarcasm or wistful pity parties.   
Brie glared at the apparition of herself laying casually besides her on her back, a whiff of disgust on their mirrored features.   
Of course, it is; we’re dying. And from the looks of that wound it’s gonna take some time for it to happen. Might as well get maudlin”  
Brie lifted her head from the sand, pain lancing through her so sharp she exhaled and put her head back down.   
Ok, it wasn’t good.  
Never concede total defeat until the last breath has left your body, a male voice drawled in her head.  
Her apparition’s head swerved toward her direction. Dad never had to bleed out. It’s entirely logical and less sufferable to impale yourself fully; you pass out and the rest, as they say, is in peace.  
Grunting, she pushed the pessimistic contemplative thought aside and propelled all her willpower into rising and managed to get up on her knees. The stench of decaying flesh made her recoil and gag as this lot seemed intent on swarming her. They paced, relatively docile which was one of the first observations recorded when she’d been forcefully thrown in a cage with over thirty of them.   
The Rotters were hunters, insatiable consumers, though there were indeed breaks between meals in when they digested in almost a hyper sleep that lasted no longer than half an hour. Otherwise, they had one single visceral need to eat even if the meal was inwardly targeted.   
Not around her.  
Not only did she not read tasty to them and was ignored within their ranks, but some had a habit of lingering just so as if they too were trying to decode what made her so different.  
The line was asinine at this date.  
The first two rots fell without much notice but as the threat became apparent so did the direction from whence it came. The rain was lightening up, but she still couldn’t see much as the moon was well hidden and it was dark as shit.  
The rotters, however, did not attack but stayed around her huddled like a pack of wolves protecting its pup, each falling in rapid succession. She chuckled bizarrely, swaying from blood loss.   
Strong arms pulled her upright, replaced by much smaller ones followed by the smell of vanilla as frizzed hair blew into her face.  
She was delirious but she kept herself somewhat erect and stumbling toward shelter looming ahead and an audible sigh went through her body as soon as they were through the front where and only a few feet away did she crumble.   
“Oh, no!” exclaimed a young voice.  
She felt the vibrations on the wooden floor as if something were being moved before nothingness took hold. 

Nathan rushed to the woman’s side and as gently as he could, turned her. She had something sticking out of her side and the longer it stayed lodged there the more likely it’d kill her.  
Pak, despite his somewhat ashen face kneeled beside him, skin glistening; droplets of rain falling from his wet hair. His own was plastered to his face. He examined the wound. “Nate, there’s a drawer in the kitchen on the left with everything we need. We need to get this out, so I know how much it penetrated and more importantly stop the bleeding.”  
He didn’t argue, just hurried to collect the items; an assortment of pill bottles, needle and thread, and rubbing alcohol. He found a bowl as well which he filled with water.   
Balancing everything, he returned to find Pak was becoming irritated. “Jesus, Andrea snap out of it. We aren’t getting her upstairs so go get some blankets!”  
Nathan watched as Andrea’s mouth thinned but her wide eyes behind the rims of her glasses bespoke her distraction. She pointed an accusing finger, “oh, we’re just going to act like what we just saw was normal!”  
Nathan put down the items, Pak immediately looking at the labels of the medications, and rolled his eyes. “You do realize you’re the queen of melodramatic?”  
She ignored him completely, still outraged. “Those things didn’t even attack her!”  
Pak glared in a way that caused Andrea to gasp. “Fix Now, Discuss Later. Blankets. Now.”   
Only after she sauntered away did Pak turn his attention back to the patient. “Well, there isn’t no easy way to do this soooo….” He firmly grasped the metal object and yanked.  
Nathan flinched but didn’t need to be told to put pressure on the wound the size of a fifty-cent coin and hold it there. The man had been an EMT before the world collapsed and assisting him had become a form of communication in the earlier days of their association.  
Their actions had not caused her to awaken through her body jerked and she moaned. Pak signaled him to remove the cloth to allow him to drench the raw skin in alcohol.  
She still didn’t move, and his anxiety was increasing though he hid his face from Pak’s inquiring gaze.  
Andrea came back down with the blankets and dropped them somewhat ungraciously. Pak didn’t even look up, saying, “There’s a lighter somewhere on that shelf over there.” Andrea did a little twirl searching for the shelf in question until she spotted it.   
Pak continued to inspect the wound, then shifted her to look at her back. “Well, it didn’t go through and not nearly as deep as I was suspecting.” He continued his cursory inspection of her body clearly looking for any bite wounds. None. Andrea handed him the lighter and without being told began to make a pallet.  
Pak had a way of making it very clear he’d get physical if you pushed him. Sure, Andrea didn’t know that, but she suspected. Despite Pak’s vouching of him and affectionately calling him kid he was not a man particular fond of coddling. He brandished the flame it under the needle before laying it down gently and washing his own hands in alcohol while Nathan once again staunched the blood flow which had decreased.   
The next half hour went by in total silence as Pak worked and he and Andrea took turns getting water and cleaning rags. He’d leaned close several times searching for signs of life and staring hard enough could indeed see the subtle rise and fall of her chest.   
There wasn’t gauze or tape, so he and Dre made strips from some discarded sheets as bandages before moving her to the pallet where she remained unconscious.   
Nathan continued to sit next to her and put out a tentative hand to her forehead.   
He had almost lost the argument that she was even real; all them peering into the night and seeing nothing. That was until she tried to rise.  
“She warm?” Pak asked.  
“A little.”  
Pak nodded. “That’s normal; aint nothing more to be done besides let the body do the rest. Considering the strength it took to pull herself from that wreck I’d reckon she’s not fragile cargo.”  
Andrea sat on the steps watching them keenly and Pak gestured for him to join him there where he put his hands on his hips and resumed the same bemused look of shock he had the minute their new houseguest moved within a flock unscathed. “Now, Andrea, back to what you were saying; no, it isn’t normal. Not at all.”

Chapter Three: The Bomb  
Waking was painful but there was no escaping the pull of awareness, so she conceded and allowed the first wave of agony to overtake her; she immediately felt the urge to vomit.  
A bucket was thrust in front of her just in time to empty the contents of the sea in. The acidic taste it left in her mouth afterwards made her dry heave further.   
“Here.”   
She gratefully took the bottle of water and drank greedily ignoring how her skin stretched raw at the movement or the fact that some dribbled down her throat. While her curiosity encouraged her to finish examining the man-child in her vicinity, training assessed her situation in rapid glances as she realized she was in a room with two other people who were both staring at her in varying temperaments; wary suspicion and fearful hostility.   
It’s obvious someone saw things they shouldn’t. Now we have explaining to do.  
She glared at herself sans throbbing wound.  
Not now.  
There had been a candle lit but the room was filtering in light which meant dawn was approaching. She glanced down at her bandage and tenderly touched it, realizing nothing else seemed broken or majorly damaged albeit sore.  
Her gaze sought out the man-child’s and despite his gentle voice he looked the most inscrutable. She swallowed. “Well, don’t I feel like an Elephant. Since it’s apparent you saved my life, I guess you have some questions I should answer.”  
Surprisingly, it was the brown-haired girl who rose and crossed her arms defensively before asking, “What are you?”  
Looks like someone got promoted team Captain.   
Don’t be an ass.   
She sat up further, resting her weight on her elbows. “Short and long answer, who knows. The million tests, blood and marrow extractions, DNA configuring, blah blah blah amounted fuck if we know for them and an increasing need to escape for me, which yes…” she turned to the Asian man who had opened his mouth to speak. “I escaped and no, I don’t know where from. Are there others like me? I do not know, never met any. I fuckin hope so because I’m afraid I offer no hope whatsoever to humanity.”  
The man shifted a little, eyes narrowed but the girl deflated.   
“You don’t…. your immunity is just what? Random?”  
“It was a hard pill to swallow on Presentation Day too but that’s about the gist of it. The most they could come up with was I was bit by a snake in Africa as a baby on a diplomatic mission and it’s possible that infection could have altered the chemistry in my body but the exhaustive theorizing still spells zip ziddily nothing concrete.”  
The girl sank back down on her step at that.   
“You don’t have a bite,” said the teen. He was near, not touching, casually leaning against the wall. She observed the dark circles under his eyes, not acquainting them with lack of sleep at all. His hair was entirely too long in a way that spoke of an allergy to brushing.   
“If I show you, will you answer me how the hell I ended up in here and just how long ago that was?”  
The man rose in a protective manner and she filed it away. Ignoring the subtle and without waiting an answer, she turned and lifted her braids revealing the teeth marks at the nape of her neck where some time over a year she’d made an uncharacteristic choice that killed her; at least that should have.   
“Looks like vampire teeth; wasn’t from a lover, was it?”  
Cheeky little shit, isn’t he?   
“Sorry, I never caught his name,” she drawled.  
“You’ve been out a couple of hours. I think it was the crash that woke me. I saw you out in the storm, then we rescued you. Pak,” he gestured to the man still glaring, then at the girl, “and Andrea helped to patch you up. You had,”  
“A piece of the boat inside of me, yeah…. I remember that part.”  
“Speaking of the boat where was it again you said you were escaping from?” asked Pak and it was his turn to cross his arms except with menace.  
The best way to hide lies were to bury them in the sincerest version of the truth. “After I got bit the level of awareness of the stuff and thangs around me became very limited. Not only was I kept away and moved around, I was almost always sedated the first ten months. I was being held in an unbreakable glass cage like a lab rat under constant experiment and observation. Over time, I found some empathetic ears and was smuggled out to a boat a few night’s back. It was me and three others when the storm hit and the rest, I’m sure you can figure out.”  
Pak paced. “I’d rather you complete the narrative.”  
“Pak,” both teen and Andrea said in union. He only stared at her. She moved to rise with the girl rushing forward to assist. The man-child made no move to help.  
Interesting.  
Those bottomless eyes only watched with a small smile on his face. Noticing the scrutiny, he smiled wider, “I’m Nathan.”  
The girl’s arm circled her waist as she gained her balance. “You should probably take it easy,” she said. “Those are stitches not staples.”  
Breathing hard, but standing without support, she mumbled,   
“Good to know.” Sensing a kindred-ness that made her other countenance glare she stuck out her hand to the boy. “Brielle, but nobody calls me that. Just Bree is fine.”   
He stared at her hand a minute before gingerly grasping it, his palms a bit damp and chilled.   
Pak seemed a bit surprised but alert. Her people files retained it all. She turned to the Alpha in the room, “ And I owe you a thanks which is why I don’t mind at all telling you the last thing I remember before waking up in what was left of said boat was the sound of the hull scraping something and a jolt before a wave devoured me.”  
He grunted. That was the wholehearted truth. “How many people know about you; I mean what you are?” hands gesturing wildly.   
She perused her surroundings, gritting her teeth against the pain.   
Pain is in the mind but felt in the body; to overcome it, is to train your mind to endure, a male voice droned.  
“You mean besides the people whose camp had me kept prisoner? No one. And it’s probably better if it stayed that way…” she trailed off; fixated. “Is that Vicodin?” She rushed forward, confirming her suspicions. Three were consumed before anyone could respond.  
“Whoa,” said Andrea putting her hands up in afront. “You can’t expect us not to tell our- “  
“Wont they come after you? The people from your camp,” asked Nathan.” He retained his pose on the floor, cross legged this time, a previously unnoticed Anna Rice book at his side.   
She shrugged, a tension rising that she smothered before it could reach her face. “I don’t know, but I doubt it. We were at sea a few days before the storm blew us off course according to Frank; he was our navigator. Becky and George are probably dead and as sad as that is I really didn’t know them.” Also true.  
“ I highly doubt despite their power over me anyone’s got the resources to conduct a one-person manhunt across Lord only knows how much Earth between here and wherever there was.”  
Her senses were beginning to dull from the medication kicking in and she felt a relief sag into her aching muscles.   
Perception. Admit and Omit. Ingratiate. Charm.  
Infiltrate.  
Andrea looked at Pak. “She should come with us.”  
Pak gave her an exasperated look. “Here’s the thing, Bree, you’re going to need medical attention for the next week or so making sure you don’t catch an infection but the thing is; those Vicodin’s you swallowed aside, these supplies are ours and we’ll be taking them when we go which wont be many more hours from now. Now, your best option, and I think you know it, is for you to accompany us but we aren’t just a trio of three.”  
“Pak, my father always said the more, the bigger the buffet selection,”  
Nathan laughed.  
Pak blinked. “And we’re not in the habit of lying to our people.”  
“You seem to like thinks put straight, we have that in common. You’re right, I am weighing my options and finding your begrudging offer def the best option but about lying to your friends? Imagine you stumbled upon a nuclear warhead in the trunk of the car you and your friends are traveling in. You know in a short period of time you are going to junk that car. Now, you can tell your family, ‘ oh my god I just found a Nuclear warhead in the trunk’ causing them to inevitably freak out or react in unforeseen ways that create anxiety and possible conflict or you can just tell them afterwards when it’s someone else’s problem.”  
Andrea stood agog. “That literally makes no sense.”  
Pak stared at her, a glimmer of respect in his gaze and his entire countenance softened. “We don’t offer rides and assistance for free.”  
Categorized.  
She gestured to the door. “Well, now that I can’t feel how bad this wound actually hurts and a new surge of motivational energy, I guess I better find out what else made it onto the beach with me then, shall I?”


	3. Rides With Strangers

Chapter Four: Rides with Strangers  
“Do you kill them?” asked a voice just to the left of her and Bree glanced up from dislodging yet another bag from the debris. There were three altogether and she was pleasantly surprised one of them were hers.   
There were also suggestions she was not the only survivor unless everyone were thrown overboard and drowned which was unlikely. The bags left just happened to be the heaviest to carry and there no other bodies strewn about and very little blood; it felt too coincidental.   
It was of no real no concern. She had not planned to go to their destination anyway.  
“The rotters you mean?” tossing the bag next to his feet where the other two were in the sand. It was still breezy, Nathan’s hair fluttered in the wind as he nodded. “I have in the past; haven’t had a reason of late but I don’t see why I wouldn’t, especially as I’m not exactly adverting, ya know.”  
“That makes sense.”  
She looked toward the house in the distance then back at him. She did not feel like going back under the suspicious eyes of Pak or the fluttering interest of Andrea.   
She wanted to enjoy her buzz. “If you think I got some special familial bound with them lemme disappoint you. The most I get is a sense when they’re,” she waved her arms in an encompassing manner, “around. Sounds super convenient except, it is not. It’s an overwhelming nauseous feeling followed by the slightest acidic bile taste in the back of my throat. Considering the extent in which they were subjecting me to gathering this data, I didn’t tune in for the conclusions of the whys.”   
He had maintained a ready position since he had joined her, one hand on the butt on his gun, the handle of a bat sticking out of a bookbag attached to him. He stared at her curiously.   
She closed her eyes. “I assure you, Nathaniel, my discomfort would be noticeable so no, none are nearby.”  
Nathan wiggled his nose at the name change. No one had ever called him that. “On the plus side, your kind of got a superpower, like the Fantastic Four.”  
Her eyes flew open. “What the hell is a Fantastic Four?”  
He stopped mid-sentence, stared off as if thinking then shook his head. “It’s a lot, I can just show you when Base shows up.” His eyes lit up as if recalling something important. “Oh yeah, Pak called the caravan. They should be here in the next twenty or so minutes. He explained we picked up a passenger but that’s it. Figured it was for the best since you’ll only be with us until you’re healed, right?”   
The change in his demeanor was slight but she homed in on how his eyes retreated into nothingness as his survival instincts took the wheel weighing her response.  
“That’s the plan,” she replied readily. And it was. She was not a monster. These people had saved her at risk to themselves, and that deserved her leaving their presence at the soonest possible moment for their sake.   
Brielle had no illusion she was a walking kiss of death to anyone she encountered. She should keep company of those who rather deserved their fate. The issue was she did not know the lay of the land which meant wound or no wound she needed good Samaritans with knowledge to convey.   
Nathan relaxed, only a bit.” And so, I told them it’s best not to get anyone else caught up in your shit, whatever that shit is… and I think it’s some pretty deep shit.”  
Does the kid want a toy for voicing understated facts?  
“But also; sounds like you had a pretty fucked up life,” putting his hands in his pockets which seemed far more mature than his years.  
“Eh, a speed bump on a long road…and the drugs were good.” She leaned back against the intact part of the wreck watching as the sun rose in the sky.   
The boy mimicked her pose. “Have you ever felt like things are one way and then something happens and they’re never that way again?”  
“All the damn time.”

The first few days were as guarded as one would expect inviting a stranger into your private lives. Brielle had ben mildly surprised by the size of their group when they had finally made their way to each other. They had to make a walk to the road where two RV’s, two males on motorcycles and pickup truck were parked. It also meant that they had had to leave one of her ship bags behind that had consisted of canned food. Her trade consisted of seven bags of grains, two bags of flour, six cans of beans, a lantern, 3 packs of bullets, and 4 packs of Bengay; best helped to mask the human scent.   
She had noticed only one had remained when the rest of the group opened the bag. Her own consisted of two pairs of clothes, underwear, socks, a brush, a toothbrush and toothpaste, soap, two cloths, eight granola bars, a hunting knife, a bag of different prescription pills and twelve perfectly rolled joints in a zip loc bag.  
Nobody rolled them like Jerry, she thought on a wistful sigh when she spotted them, only briefly pondering if he still lived.   
Her gold encrusted Cabot gun, two boxes of bullets, and machete were neatly tucked in as well. She kept two smaller knives on her hip and her thigh and a neatly concealed readymade garrote within her hair.   
In this world you need to be ready to kill, a male voice declared.  
She was expected to feed herself and she had no issues on that account.  
Gradually, as days turn into a week and then two the tension began to ease and she deciphered the individual dynamics.   
The survivors were centered around a family; The Greeves who consisted of mother Hilda, Father Danny, son, nineteen-year-old Ellis and brother twenty-six-year-old Tom. They each resembled the other noticeably, sharp noses, brown haired and lean. They each spoke with a thick southern accent that wasn’t distasteful. Pak it turned out had been a neighbor before the world turned twenty years ago and had been with them since. Then there were brother and sister Andi and Justin Stokes. Justin was tall, well-muscled, dark haired and easy to smile. Andi had a shaved head and a short stocky frame and enjoyed most her time outside on the bike. The two were social and friendly but kept mostly to their bikes. Both didn’t know their age, but she guessed around mid-twenties. The lone man Roland had, had a wife and sixteen-year daughter, but they died sometime last year, Nathaniel had told her. Trapped in a room surrounded by a flock of Rotters bound to get inside mother had killed child and then herself to avoid a worst fate. It had broken him. The white haired, fifty something year old black man without a task tended to stare off for hours on end sometimes mumbling to himself.   
She also learned Andrea was the newest addition after her community was attacked and ransacked (by themselves as well judging by the amount of supplies they had stowed away under the tarp in the back of the truck she’d had a peek at and in the trailers themselves not easily gleaned) by the same cult that forced the families to leave the same area they’d settled and had traded with for years to begin with; the Flesh Eaters.   
It was a relief to not have to ask who some of the people, places, or things the group discussed were because the commentary as time passed provided enough fractured parts to puzzle the world together.  
Flesh Eaters, for example, were at the Top of the food chain of motherfuckers you wanted to avoid at all costs. They had an ritualized routine. The manifesto was not to starve. In the spring and summer months they hunted, opportunistic more than strategic, groups, communities and individuals were all fair game. The goal was to fill up people up into cattle trucks to be transported back to an agreed central location in the ruins of a town or city they meant to hibernate during the darker and colder times of the year with plenty meat to feed the bellies of those who were considered Ascendants.  
Ascendants were those who consumed their weaker prey and were always branded with the talisman signifying their own clan. Members were also recruited from the cattle farms if you made a worthy addition to the ranks whether you be man or woman but if you were cattle life expectancy wasn’t long and before the existence would cruel.  
Children under the age of or believed to be under the age of twelve were often left to nature. It was one of their few commandments. Yet children born of Ascendants were nurtured in the art of hunter/gathering with very little education beyond reading and day to day logistics firmly indoctrinated as the Alphas in the New World Order.  
“ Cannibalism, that there was just something insidious you heard people talkin about; first in appalled whispers, then outrage,” Hilda had said in her thick southern accent, while peeling potatoes into a pot during the ride. “there were small groups here and there popping up; no one hesitated to kill them if they got too close. No matter what they wanted to tell themselves, it was unnatural and wrong.   
“But then the walls kept falling. At first the bigger more optimistic places like District 47,”  
“ That Airforce base…shit, what was it called?” piped in Tom, who dealt himself cards in a game called Solitary. He’d tried to explain it to her but she felt no interest in retaining the information.  
“Fort Hamilton,” Pak had replied somberly. He had been reading a book called The Art of War.   
“ I hated that place,” said Ellis who had his forehead pressed against the window.   
Hilda carried on as if no one had spoken; it was a common theme. “Then the second chance asylums, and the third and fourth until joining a cult in which killing and eating another human being was an acceptable trade off for the semblance of a sheltered life,” she’d finished glumly and sighed.  
There had been a dim silence before she’d added, “We ate the Neanderthals, I hear.” It had been one of the few times she had tried to include herself into the conversation.   
By the amassed differing factions, they’d narrowly avoided since splintering into their familial unit some four years ago, it was clear to Bree the lifestyle was fast approaching the new norm. Hence Mother Hen’s evident disgust.  
However, the Flesh Eaters were not the only ones in the business of huddling the leftover world for its own ends. Slavers were also prevalent. They were also more duplicitous, using infiltration tactics on communities and groups alike with spotters before homing in with an attack using captured Rotters like dogs to funnel their prey before capturing and killing the beasts.   
Unlike Flesh Easter, children were captured too. No one knew where the people were taken, only that they were to be sold. The few stories passed from many mouths to ears were that there were communities that traded in slave labor and prostitution.   
Now that hadn’t surprised Brielle as she listened to story after story in a consistent mild hum from the dwindling Vicodin she had commandeered for her pain. Each changed bandaged revealed healing. Her side hurt less but remained stiff which meant she remained each night when they tucked in under different guards, plotting out her next course of action.  
The world being sprawled out in a nation of adaptable tribes worked in her favor. The Greeves, as she simply called them, had revealed people were used to intermingling with others on a short-term basis; enough to barter and sometimes live in close enough vicinity to ensure additional safety of their own. They had done so themselves a few times into their journey, with the more seasoned able to feel out like minded peoples.  
This lifestyle was ideally suitable for someone who did not want to be tracked but would be.  
There was no pretending Owen would not come.   
They would send him.  
And he would have his best militia with him, no doubt.  
It was not about if she would get caught, when she would get caught, or if she died never seeing his face or Metropolis Prime ever again. It was about escaping that damn cage where she dawdled, the pet science experiment; a fly fluttering furiously against the pins embedded in her arms while life passed her by. Her veins were coursing with an energy between glee and anticipation.   
She was finally in control and it was as an alien a feeling as the moment she first woke to Owen’s stone face drenched in sweat and vomit after three days sans being bitten.   
“You’re going to leave soon.” Nathaniel said, interrupting her contemplations, walking beside her.   
Tonight, marked their eighteenth occasion of this evening ritual in which she took her bag and stowed it somewhere distantly away from wherever they camped for night or two.   
No one had seemed to mind or ask questions or maybe it was fine enough since she allowed Nathan to always tag along. It was also an indication she did not intend to stay which was mutually agreed was a good idea. Sure, they rubbed shoulders well enough but her amenable behavior served the purpose of keeping them talking more about themselves than about her. She was hoping by the time the topic arose she would be long gone.   
Her secret still was, and it needed to stay that way.  
They fell in step beside each other walking the halls of what once was a school. It had been found during a scouting party she’d been included in where they had run into more than a few Rotters.   
Only Nathaniel had been aware of her queer expression change as she stumbled and stood still; everyone else had been busy. He’d yelled out a warning he thought he heard incoming and that was that. The came fast, salacious, and animalistic but they’d been ready; everyone survived. The school revealed itself shortly after and to the Greeves part it felt like victory.   
The location was just what they were looking for.   
They had had to chop their way into an entrance, anxiously waiting outside with guns for the Rots to run towards the noise. But none did. The place was overgrown but adjacent to it was a building that house a garage which perfectly concealed their means of transportation once they had managed to find the mechanical button amid the plantation.   
That had been mid-morning.  
Since then the place had been cleared of any threats and the entrance fortified. The school was two stories. There were no signs of other occupants which had been a relief. Just chalkboards and chalk which Andrea and Ellis spent the afternoon having fun with.   
They chose the closest two classrooms to the exit to use as their sleeping area once it began to get dark. Hilda usually took it upon herself to make the meals sometimes joined by Andrea when she wasn’t flirting with Ellis, but both were with her now with her husband and Andi.  
Roland had taken first guard with the brothers and Pak flanking him from different positions within the perimeter.   
“It was going to happen sooner or later,” she finally answered.   
“Here.” She let him choose an optimal location to hide one’s things in an unconscious training exercise. If she disagreed on his assessment, she disregarded his suggestion without comment.   
He stopped next to a room that was just a few clicks from where they discovered a second entrance/exit. It had been barricaded in case someone found their way through the brush.  
The room was a library stocked piled with different books, dusted and untouched in decades; adolescent teen novels from the titles she skipped over. There was also a row of cabinets.  
She nodded, “Agreed.”   
Normally, Nathan would have internally preened that he had passed whatever test she’d wordlessly quizzed him on. He was too wrapped in the disappointed of her answer though he himself knew the logic of it. For all the time they spent together she was still very much a stranger. Still, though she tried to hide it, she liked to listen to him drone on about the comics and the fantasy books as well.   
When she found out he had a Walkman with a bunch of tapes they’d spent the day sharing earpieces as they listened to songs of people neither of them knew. He also liked that she was not prone to excessive banter. She either had something to say or she did not.  
He leaned in the doorway. “Figures.” He felt guilty saying it. He had a good thing with The Greeves family; far better than he had in the years before them though it all wasn’t black.  
She stuffed the duffle bag into a drawer and closed it. “I’d take you with me if I could, ya know?”  
He also liked how she did not need him to explain what he meant; she just always seemed to know. “I get the impression you’re doing me the bigger favor by fucking off.”  
She beamed at him and he irrationally wanted to smack her. “ I think I may actually miss you, Nathaniel.”  
Brielle was surprised she meant it. Overall, she hated children. Andrea had quickly learned to maintain a distance.  
He rolled his eyes at her in a kid-ish way he would mock in another, however it was quiet companionable moments like this as they walked up the stairs were the moments he’d mourn most. He knew people had friends, he’d had them too, but never one that was just his.   
Take me with you when you go.  
He was embarrassed to have almost said the words aloud. If he wanted to ask her it would not sound like the desires of desperate boy seeking a playmate.  
He had just had the thought when they were stopped short by the sound of gunfire above. Nathan had his weapon ready and she unsheathed her hunting knife attached earlier in the day, as they climbed the remaining steps, but it was over as quickly as it began. Rifles met them as they rounded the corner to the others and shouts came to drop their weapons which they both did with some reluctance. Two somewhat heavy-set oily men dressed in similar armless shirts and jeans grabbed continued to aim at them as another pair of equally oily shallow boys hoisted them forward and Bree assessed the scene.  
It was a flash attack; meant to be quick and overwhelming. They were outnumbered by men and women, their group all huddled together on their knees, hands behind their backs staring defiantly.   
“….only some black old man,” she heard one of them say but their conversations were to low to overhear.   
Andrea was audibly sobbing, and she felt a sense of dark humor how quickly she hiccupped and stopped once she turned in her direction. Fear was like blood in the water to a shark; the girl was putting a target on her.   
Pak, bruised and bloodied was brought in by two additional men who looked angry as they threw him before the rest. Tom and Justin had surrendered without much of the same fight it would appear and kneeled beside their respective family members.  
No one moved.   
A man unarmed dressed in grey pants and a shirt that featured men in clown makeup with the words “Kiss” forefront stepped forward through their entrance. He was accompanied on the left and right by women who wore similar shirts, all three identically bleach blonde. Yellowing teeth flashed amid a deranged smile and dilated large brown eyes and he clapped and exclaimed, “How unexpected! It seems we are going to have ourselves a hellva time night!”


End file.
